


The Yellow Mask's Utopia

by LiteratureLee



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Horror, Satire, Utopia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 05:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9643280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiteratureLee/pseuds/LiteratureLee
Summary: The tale of a young servant through the words of the man with a yellow mask, the protagonist.I'm bad at summaries...Leave a better one for me to post, please! I'll credit the user who does.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published work, so please don't be harsh! Leave constructive criticisms, and feedback. Thanks!

This is my daily life. I am and will be known only by the yellow of my beautiful mask. You will remember me as so, and as a spectacular man who lived a life of grand euphoria, as the magnificent utopia I exist in unfolds itself and presents itself to me. A one man paradise. My paradise.

 

This is in fact, how I interpret, on first-hand accounts by the blasphemous, lying servants I have had in my care, what living with me is like, how it goes, and what happens. You'll be able to tell what they said, as it is bluntly obvious in the way they describe it, is dishonest. I assure you, it is a lie. They always lie. But, here is what they say in all it’s deception in the form of a lovely story.

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

A gravel-filled chuckle full of malice sounded from behind a man's yellow mask. The one with two beady eyes that 'stared into your very being' and that smile, 'one of despair and horror'. The type to send shivers down the spine of any man. His two acquaintances next to him, a woman adorning a green mask and a man in a blue mask, both wore the same style mask, but different colors. The chuckle from earlier had caused a ripple effect, infecting the other two with slight hesitation, leading them to echo his maniacal sounds.

 

The reason behind the horrendous sounds had stemmed from the clumsiness of the butler serving them. He had dropped the pitcher of tea he held, 'after tripping over the blue man's foot', causing him to stumble and fall to the ground, breaking the elegant glass tea pitcher as well. He also had managed to skin his palms, leaving patches of light blood on them. He was(n't) 'used to this treatment', and knew it was fitting of his social class.

 

Like all things surrounding them for 50 miles, the servant belonged to the man with the yellow mask. Despite his dirt-covered, and mud-ridden skin and hair, the servant boy wore a suit that spoke excellence and superiority amongst the common rags of his class, but everyone knew he wore it only because of his job. There'd be a new person in the suit soon though, like always. Everyone except the boy knew this. They always had a new boy. An 'innocent' boy.

 

The group of three masked nobles was perched upon three wooden chairs that sat in the gazebo, at the edge of a small cliff. The view was that of an enormous crop field--covering dozens of acres--and the 'broken spirits' working it. They wore 'tattered rags that barely covered their bodies, and bruises' across the backs of those who didn't work hard enough. They looked 'more like zombies than humans'. Their 'skin gripping their bones as if they had ordered skin a size too small'. Their eyes were sunken in, dead, a void. 

 

Several minutes passed before the servant boy made his trip back with a new pitcher. Having put on gloves too, to hide where he skinned his palms. The servant returned only to bear witness to an orchestra of cackling, 'the likes of which strongly resembled hyenas'. He shivered. However, the object they laughed at this time was not the boy. The servant had to place the new pitcher on the table in the gazebo before seeing what it was that caused such ungodly howls.

 

A few people were tempting to drag a small shape in the field, but the guard dogs patrolling the fields quickly ran over. Without having to even growl or bare their teeth, the people scattered back to their jobs. Fleeing the scene and away from the small shape. Some carrying small scraps of something.

 

That's when the servant realized what the shape was, evident by him having to throw up over the rails of the gazebo and into a bush. Down below them in the field, a young boy had collapsed. No one had dared help him, fearing punishment. Instead, they did as encouraged and quickly scavenged the body. Several men, women and a few children had rushed over, pulling the pieces of cloth they could from the corpse.

 

The beast only took initiative upon themselves to do what the broken spirit-beast would've anyways; having gripped the corpse in their maw. They proceeded to rip mouthfuls of flesh from the corpse. They chewed it, swallowed it, and picked a new piece of the carcass. All while they dragged it away.

 

Once recovered, the Servant bowed to his lord, apologizing. 

 

The yellow mask made no change to its facial features, but a voice spoke out in a low whisper and straight to the point, "A weak stomach? Good to know. It's time then." He then raised his voice, filling it with authority and a slight giddiness, "Fetch me a fine wine from the cellars, dear boy. All shall be forgiven soon."

 

The servant left like the wind was under his foot. He hated those mask. They made him uncomfortable, uneasy,  and nervous. Those are the very reasons he doesn't disobey. He feared them.

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

Am I not the most eloquent fiction writer of all time? Look at how well I weave the lies of the servants with the gold lining of truth. Ah, how is it possible to blend reality and fantasy into such an outstanding symbiotic relationship? I must truly have the magical touch. 

 

Isn't this fun, though? You have the pleasure of reading one of the greatest works of art ever! By yours truly no less. Only perfection can create perfection, after all. Alas, it is a double sided coin, for perfection can make nothing but perfection.

 

Well, it's time to continue the tale. Time to relive the lies of a servant, and their hideous hallucinations.

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

The servant shivered, entering the cold, damp cellar beneath the mansion's kitchen. The place was always unnaturally cold. Ice grew in a thin skin upon all pieces of metal, and everything else was colder than ice to the touch. On the bright side, this was one of the few places the servant could be alone. He needn't hide or act in a certainly dictated way when entering the cellar. Today was different though. The cold was colder, the air more damp, and the mood gloomy upon the entirety of the area. It was as if someone had sucked the soul out of the place and replaced it with a miasma of discomfort. The servant couldn't quite put a finger on why he felt that way.

 

He shrugged and looked over the cellar’ hallway. It was mostly the same as it always was when he visited. Bags of grains laid in piles against the walls as well as in a few side pockets of the corridor and vegetables glistened in the damp air while they sat upon shelves and in sacks. However, there was one major difference between his memory and what he saw, at the end of the cellar hallway, a metal door replaced where a tomato-holding shelf was usually at.

 

Spiking his curiosity, the servant forwent his initial task to get wine and walked toward the door. The sound of his steps making a light tapping echo, breaking the silence of the cellar. Each step only increased his curiosity! The desire to know began to burn like the blazing sun! ‘What could be behind the door? I have never laid my eyes upon it before,’ his brain screamed. 

 

The increased drive forced him into jogging, then trotting, and soon a quick spring till he reached the door. He froze. His curiosity stopped. A new feeling plagued him. His hand shook as it reached toward the door’s knob. He began to sweat despite the cool air. Anxiety built inside, igniting a feeling to not enter, to stop, to run away and return to his assigned task. 

 

However, before he knew it he had grasped the knob and turned it and pushed the door open. His eyes widened as he started down a long, dark staircase. The staircase seemed to lead straight to hell itself. The walls were rock, and besides the smooth cut stairs, it was a cave. The only lights were a few torches that hung upon poorly made post every few dozen feet. 

 

His anxiety was replaced, and once more, an overpowering curiosity took over. ‘What could be hidden down there? Treasure?’ The thoughts would only continue until he took the first step. Abandoning his task without so much as a second thought, he sped down the staircase. His heartbeat beat faster, his blood rushed at high speeds, and his feet moved faster than he could think possible. The adrenaline coursing through his body made his head throb with anticipation.

 

The servant grew closer, his movements made him feel like he was flying rather than running. Then it happened, he tripped. A foot caught under the other and he went flying down step after step after step after step. He crashed against the ground seconds later. The fall bruising several muscles across his body and dislocating two fingers on his left hand.

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

That's why you've always been told to walk carefully down the stairs! What a shame too. I might've let hi- Oh, nevermind. The point here is that safety should always come before anything else. Also, sneaking into another’s private pleasure room isn't nice! No one has decency or manners these days. 

 

At any rate, I must say this story is going quite nicely, is it not? Of course, it is! I did write it after all, and nothing can beat it for that simple fact. Hell, I could spit on a paper and it'd instantly be better than any of the trash you've picked up. 

 

That's a moot point now, though. Shall we continue with the fall of this boy? I think so.

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

Once the initial shock of falling wore off, the servant screamed as he stared at his disfigured fingers. His pinky was bent at a 90-degree angle to the right from ring finger. While his middle finger was twisted and bent over 120-degrees backward. The pain made him screech, but he covered his mouth with his one good hand. After having calmed himself down enough to think, he sat on the ground. He placed a foot on the palm of his left hand and pushed down, forcing his middle finger back into place.

 

The action brought him to tears as he incoherently cried to himself. He couldn't do it again. He couldn't pop his other finger back in. But, it hurt! It hurt so bad. The pain being like a thousand knives being stabbed into him at once every second. Screaming out loud and in one motion, he pushed his pinky into place. He screamed in agony. Tears filled his eyes and made his face wet as they trailed down his cheeks. What punishment he was receiving. 

 

It took a minute, but eventually, he slowed his crying and relaxed. The pain was mostly gone except for the few cases of bruises across his body. He placed a hand down to lift himself up but froze. He had touched something wet, and mushy. He looked towards his hand and to his horror his hand sunk into the suit dressed in bloody meat next to him. He retracted his hand quickly, causing the bloated stomach his had entered to deflate. 

 

He recoiled in disgust, reeling several feet back and falling on his behind. His other hand once landed on a weirdly shaped surface. He looked once more and found a skeleton around his hand as his hand rested on the spine. He screeched loudly and stood up, closing his eyes.  _ Surely this is just a bad dream?! There's no way those are real! I'm gonna awaken in the cellar in a few moments when I open my eyes _ , he thought.

 

Sadly, the truth was the opposite. His eyes opened and widened in terror. The servant was at a loss for words, only inaudible sounds were escaping. He finally got a good look at the room he was in. It was a rather medium sized storage room. However, what frightened him wasn't the room itself, but the abundance of bones, bubbling meat, rotten flesh, and human-shaped suits dressed in flesh hanging from meat hooks. This wasn't just anywhere, it was the infamous slaughterhouse…

 

The servant fell to his hands and knees, barely supporting himself as he shook and threw up on the floor. Even the ground had strange bile, dried blood, and mucus covering a good amount of it. The room was, for a lack of better words…

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

Beautiful! Isn't it? Yes, I knew you'd appreciate it. Of course, you do, you and I are just a like. We’re both people who just want to feel good, and- well, going any further would only be spoiling. Now, wouldn't it?

 

Ta ta for now. Back to the story!

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

Terrifying! That's what it was. As soon as he could stand, the servant did and took off back up the stairs.

 

After a few minutes, he exited back into the cellar. He was breathing heavily and was covered in sweat. He couldn't pause for a second, though. He quickly cleaned himself with his handkerchief and went towards the wine section of the cellar. If he made the Yellow Mask wait any longer, he wouldn't survive the ‘beating of the merciless Yellow Mask’. He grabbed a nice brand from 2000 years ago. “2012 was some good wine,” he sighed. He quickly shook off the thought and took off for the gazebo. His mind was still down that dark staircase though and the terrible things it held. 

 

After just over a minute, he returned to the gazebo holding the bottle of wine in his injured hand and carrying a tray of glasses, and a few assorted snacks. He placed them before the three masked people on the table in the center of them. “You took a VERY long time,” the Yellow Mask said with an edge like swords to his words, “What were you doing?”

 

The servant panicked internally. He almost felt like physical swords were being held against him, ready to slice if he said wrong. He couldn't let him know what happened, though. “O-oh, I had fallen and then it took me a while to find the right bottle.

 

Though he couldn't see it, the servant felt that there was nothing short of a frown behind that mask. This is gonna be his end.  _ Here I'll die _ , he thought. However, the Yellow Mask only remarked, “Don't fret then. You're free for the rest of the day. Though, make sure you go to feed the dogs tonight. Goodbye.” He waved his hand in a gesture to leave towards the servant. There’d be no arguing against that, and the servant left to go nap in his chambers. He needed the rest after the events of today.

 

\------------------------------------------------

  
Thus ends chapter 1 of this tale of deceit. A rather anti-climatic calm before the storm perhaps? Oh well, I must go polish my mask anyways.


End file.
